


high tide for janna

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, plus a cameo from the summers ladies!, what is a celia fic without complex feelings on jenny and buffy's dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: You are not going to do this,she told herself.You are not going to buy a tiny duckling ornament for Rupert. There is a line, and you are coming dangerously close to crossing it. If it’s a serious relationship, that means you’ve made a space for him in your life, and you’re not the kind of person who has ever done anything like that. There is no space for anyone in your life but you. You’re not gonna compromise your freedom for anything. You…are picking up the ducklings right now, aren’t you?(Jenny and Giles. Christmas, 1997.)
Relationships: Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	high tide for janna

**Author's Note:**

> so this was meant to be a fic about giles and jenny spending their first christmas together, and then it ended up being less about their actual first christmas together and more about jenny's continued (failing) attempts to pretend that her feelings for giles weren't serious. quel surprise.
> 
> fun fact: the original title for this in my files was "it's christmas and jenny is a simp." i think that sets the tone of this fic pretty well.

Jenny had never really bought into all that Christmas garbage. That kind of thing felt like a contrived way to get a whole bunch of suckers to shell out cash on trees and lights and ingredients for a big dinner surrounded by blood relatives you could barely tolerate. It was like Thanksgiving, but if you added presents and a dash of the kind of magic invented by people who didn’t believe in it. Plus, as a little girl, it had been kind of hard to get all dreamy and excited about a guy who came down your chimney to distribute unimaginative department store gifts when your aunt Natalia could set stuff on fire with her mind and your mama could brew potions that allowed you to fly. Upon finding out exactly what Christmas was all about in elementary school, Jenny had made at least three of her classmates cry by informing them very solemnly that Santa was probably about as real as the stupid Tooth Fairy. (Jenny had not been very popular in elementary school.)

As such, it was somewhat surreal to be standing in a shopping mall just outside Sunnydale on December seventeenth, glancing down at Rupert’s meticulous list to make sure that she was getting absolutely everything needed to pull off her very first Christmas. Eyes lingering on the little hearts drawn around _A List for Jenny,_ Jenny tried to piece together exactly what had brought her to drive out of Sunnydale in search of a mall big enough to suit Rupert’s very specific needs—to _go out of her way_ for a guy who by all accounts was supposed to be a sexy short-term distraction from the drudgery of familial obligation—and could only recall his wistful sigh when she’d derisively suggested going Christmas shopping. As a _joke._

But a _joke_ didn’t explain why her mouth had opened, of its own volition, and said, “Wait, do you _like_ the whole Christmas thing?” And _then_ Rupert had brought out that special Watchery expression, that one that said “I am an esteemed professional who is not allowed to be vulnerable, and am therefore ashamed that you managed to notice me in a moment of vulnerability,” and for some damn reason Jenny had melted like a snowman in July, babbled some complete nonsense about how important and wonderful a holiday Christmas probably was when you were with the right people, and gone into some kind of daze that had ended with her in a shopping mall, list in hand. Clearly something was very wrong with her. Probably supernatural. Definitely something she’d have to investigate.

…After she got Rupert some string lights, of course.

There were four or five different kinds of string lights—some monochromatic, some multicolored, some designed to look like icicles or candy canes or (horrifyingly) tiny gingerbread men. Jenny warred with the impulse to buy the gingerbread men solely to see the look on Rupert’s face, remembered the fact that Rupert on painkillers had actually _cried_ two days ago when his tea went cold, and decided with a vague sense of horror to go for the sweet-looking multicolored string lights that would drape nicely around a tree. This was snowballing out of her control, she thought, placing two boxes in the cart and moving along to the ornaments.

It took Jenny about five minutes of deliberation to finally settle on some austere-looking gold and silver ornaments that she thought Rupert's cultured British sensibilities might appreciate. Placing them in the cart as well, her eyes landed on an ornament shaped like a pair of ducklings nestled up together, their little eyes closed and tiny smiles carved into their beaks.

 _You are not going to do this,_ she told herself. _You are not going to buy a tiny duckling ornament for Rupert. There is a line, and you are coming dangerously close to crossing it. If it’s a serious relationship, that means you’ve made a space for him in your life, and you’re not the kind of person who has ever done anything like that. There is no space for anyone in your life but you. You’re not gonna compromise your freedom for anything. You…are picking up the ducklings right now, aren’t you?_

Jenny stared down at the ducklings, which were now nestled serenely in her cupped hands. She didn’t think she’d held anything this carefully in her entire life.

_What the actual fuck is wrong with you._

“Oh, hey, those are nice!” came a voice from behind her. Jenny jumped, cradling the ducklings protectively to her chest without really thinking about it, and had to resist the urge to throw them very hard at a wall when she realized what she was doing. “Sorry to startle you,” said the guy with a sheepish smile. “Kinda late to make small talk with a strange guy in a shopping mall, huh?”

“Yes,” said Jenny, and smiled in a way that she hoped was particularly threatening. Any stranger who witnessed her in a moment of emotional vulnerability was immediately on her shit list, no matter _how_ cute they were. “I think there are a few of those ducklings left, though, if _you_ have a hot boyfriend you’re planning on buying them for.”

“Got it,” said the guy a little uncomfortably, and kept walking.

Carefully, Jenny set the ducklings down in the baby seat of the shopping cart, frowning thoughtfully at them and trying to figure out what kind of reaction they would garner from Rupert. They weren’t _too_ cutesy—more realistic than stylized—but one of the ducklings was wearing a little sun bonnet that reminded Jenny of Beatrix Potter illustrations, and Rupert had mentioned loving those as a little kid, so she had a feeling he might like these too. And there were _two_ ducklings, which felt significant and understated in a way that Jenny wouldn’t have to fully commit to but that Rupert would probably pick up anyway—both of them snuggled together like it was the easiest thing in the world to be that close. She knew he would like them, but she wasn’t sure if he’d like them in the way that got his eyes all misty or in the way that got him giggly and adorable and peppering kisses all over her face. Whatever reaction he _did_ have would certainly be exacerbated by the painkillers, so she felt pretty prepared for some tears—

Wait.

_Wait._

“Oh god,” said Jenny, playing back the interaction with the man who had just left. “I did _not_ just call Rupert my _boyfriend.”_

* * *

Jenny’s apparent _boyfriend_ was watching TV when she got back, lying in a precarious position that would definitely fuck up his back and making loud, slightly slurred commentary about Shark Week that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the history documentary that was currently on. “Sweetie, do not lie like that,” said Jenny, leaning down to prop Rupert up against the pillows. “Also, the sharks are gone. That’s Thomas Jefferson you’re shaking your fist at.”

“Oh, the sharks are _gone,”_ said Rupert plaintively, as though he’d only just noticed and was _deeply_ hurt by it. “Jenny, the sharks are _gone._ Where _did_ the sharks go?”

“Shark Week isn’t on in December, honey,” said Jenny, sitting down next to him and leaning into his side. “So some guy tried to hit on me at the mall.”

“Mmm,” said Rupert, nuzzling her hair.

“I told him you were my boyfriend,” said Jenny.

“Oh, that’s awful, I’m not a _boyfriend,”_ said Rupert very seriously. “I am forty-four years old. I am a _man.”_ He considered, then said with slow consideration, “I am…a…man…friend.”

Jenny bit back laughter. “Okay, bedtime for man-friend,” she said, barely managing to keep her voice level as she began to gently ease Rupert off the couch. “You’d better believe I’m gonna call you that for the rest of our natural lives.”

“Manfriend,” Rupert repeated, giving her a spacey smile.

 _“God,_ you are loopy tonight. Are you sure you didn’t overdo it on the painkillers?”

“Only one more night of painkillers,” said Rupert vaguely. “Doctor’s orders. Doctor—Jenny you are _so_ pretty _did_ I tell you how pretty you are?”

This was one of Rupert’s favorite topics of conversation when on painkillers, and as such, Jenny had heard it quite often in the last twenty-four hours alone. “Nope,” said Jenny, popping the _p,_ and helped Rupert to his feet. “Remind me?”

“Last year,” said Rupert, “I started an argument with you _just_ because I liked the way your eyes got all flashy when you were mad at me. I told you _and_ me it was about computers but No It Was Not. Your eyes are like _lightning,_ Jenny Calendar.”

Being compared to deadly and vaguely destructive forces of nature probably wouldn’t make a normal girl go weak in the knees, and goddamn it, Jenny had been trying _so damn hard_ to be a normal girl. Doing her best to hide her smile, she tugged Rupert down the hall to her room. “Try to actually get some sleep tonight, okay?” she said. “Don’t wake me at three AM to tell me demon facts again.”

“Yes, Ms. Calendar,” said Rupert very seriously.

Carefully, Jenny helped him into bed, straddling his lap to position him against the pillows. Rupert smiled, open and unguarded, and reached up to pull her into a clumsy, tender kiss. She pulled back after half a second, her heart pounding. “Rest up,” she said, laughing a little shakily. “I’ve still got some groceries to unpack—”

“Jenny, _Jenny,”_ objected Rupert, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt until she fell against him. His arms tightened around her, but not oppressively; she could probably break free if she wanted to. His chest vibrated as he sighed, and she could feel the kiss pressed to the top of her head.

The thought of a quiet, intimate Christmas spent with this man felt…like Jenny was standing on a beach at high tide, close enough to the water that it might just pull her out to sea. She’d dated _so_ many other people, and not once had she stopped herself from flirting with a handsome stranger when she was seeing someone else. Sometimes it had even gone beyond flirting and into an ethically not-great area that had killed her original relationship. Never had staying still with a single person seemed more appealing than leaving for the next interesting thing when the new-relationship spark burned out.

“I am a terrible girlfriend,” said Jenny very quietly. “You should know that before we get serious.”

“We _are_ serious,” said Rupert, just as soft, still in that vague and spaced-out voice that meant the painkillers were at least doing some of the talking. “Aren’t we?”

Jenny thought about what it would mean to be in a serious relationship with someone—all the family skeletons she’d have to dig up and out of the closet, all the strange and ugly pieces of herself that would slowly come to light if she stayed still long enough for Rupert to see them. He looked at her with such unearned adoration, in part because she was the first person in a very long time to show him kindness—and wasn’t _that_ strange and out of character for her? Jenny Calendar, gentle and compassionate, beautiful and worthy…her family would laugh if they heard the way Rupert talked about her. They probably wouldn’t even _know_ he was talking about her.

“Yeah,” she said, quietly enough that Rupert probably didn’t even hear it. Maybe _she_ didn’t even hear it, and could pretend she hadn’t said it.

Rupert sighed again, his breathing beginning to even out into the calmness of sleep. Jenny closed her eyes.

* * *

Rupert was a bit groggy in the morning, but a bit more like himself, though he did seem to have retained the casual displays of affection that the painkillers had allowed him—or maybe he’d always wound his arms around Jenny’s stomach while she was making morning coffee, and she just hadn’t thought to notice. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he said idly, “There are quite a lot of grocery bags in your living room. Planning on world domination?”

Jenny blinked. “Did you forget about yesterday?”

“Um,” Rupert hesitated, “probably? The last few days are a bit blurry.” He laughed a little to himself. “I think I remember you calling me your _boyfriend?”_

“Oh my _god,”_ said Jenny indignantly, and only stopped herself from yanking free of Rupert’s arms by firmly reminding herself that she didn’t want to accidentally injure him _again._ “Why is _that_ what you remember? Why couldn’t you have remembered us talking about…I don’t know, Shark Week?”

“Shark Week isn’t on in December, Jenny,” said Rupert.

 _“That’s what I said!”_ Jenny felt certain that she was blushing.

“Jenny, I quite abhor the term boyfriend,” Rupert said helpfully, “so if—”

Extremely grateful for the reminder, Jenny said with as much smoothness as she could manage, “Yeah, you said pretty much the same thing last night. Then you called yourself my _manfriend_ and told me I was pretty twice.”

“…ah,” said Rupert in a strangled voice.

Jenny laughed, more out of relief than anything. Handling Rupert’s mortification was a hell of a lot easier than handling hers. “Hey, you make a cute manfriend,” she said.

Casually, Rupert said, _“You_ seem to think I make a cute _boyfriend.”_

This was not fun anymore. “This is not fun anymore,” said Jenny. “I’m breaking up with you,” but she dissolved into a kind of breathless laughter when Rupert’s arms tightened playfully around her, his head dipping down to kiss her neck. _“Sto-o-op!”_

“Am I your _boyfriend,_ Ms. Calendar?” Rupert purred against her skin. “Are we going _steady?”_

“I _despise_ you,” Jenny gasped between giggles, turning ever so slightly until her face collided with his.

Rupert’s kisses were still a little tentative, a little strained; thankfully, his Jenny-inflicted injury hadn’t been _too_ severe, but his range of motion was limited. Everything about them had to be just a little bit gentler as a result, and so Jenny turned all the way in his arms to take control of the kiss, steadying him with a hand on his chest. When they broke apart, he was grinning. “Can’t make me squirm _that_ easy anymore,” he said. _“Am_ I your boyfriend, darling?”

“You said you hated the term,” said Jenny. Oh, god, she _was_ blushing.

“I do. I don’t mind it if _you’re_ partial to it.”

“I am _not!”_

“You _did_ use it—”

“By _accident,_ and only because some hot guy at the mall _hit_ on me!” said Jenny irritably. “So it really didn’t mean _half_ as much as you’re acting like it did, and—why are you looking at me like that. Stop that.” Rupert’s eyes were sparkling. _“Stop_ that. Is it really so great to hear that your girlfriend got hit on?”

“…Jenny,” said Rupert, “putting aside the fact that you _just now_ called yourself my girlfriend, are you trying to tell me that an attractive gentleman made a pass at you and you turned him down for _my_ sake?”

Jenny had very clearly painted herself into a corner. “…Yes,” she said.

“Despite us never _actually_ having any kind of conversation about exclusivity?”

 _“Are_ you seeing anyone else?” said Jenny very sharply, her hand gripping the front of Rupert’s pajama shirt and yanking him just a little bit closer.

Rupert looked absurdly amused by this. Placing his hand over hers, he said very seriously, “Yes, Jenny, I have a veritable _parade_ of lovers that I cycle through every minute of the hour a week I _don’t_ see you. You _do_ know that nearly every second of my free time for the last three months has been spent _with you,_ don’t you?”

Jenny had figured this one out about two weeks ago, but it was one thing to do some hasty mental math and another entirely to hear your apparently- _boyfriend_ say that all of the free time he had was being spent on you. Rupert deserved rest and relaxation more than anyone she knew. The fact that he was finding it with _her—_

“Okay okay fine so we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now, fine,” she said very fast. Her heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest. “I mean it was basically official _already_ so this is just semantics and who even _needs_ labels in this fine and modern year of 1997 especially if they make us sound like teenage melodrama—”

Rupert was looking at her with wide-eyed mirth. “Jenny Calendar,” he said very slowly, “have _I_ made _you_ squirm?”

“Patently absurd!” said Jenny. “Who the hell would even believe you if you told them something like that!”

“You are a _top-notch_ girlfriend,” said Rupert. Glaring at him, Jenny held his gaze. “See, you _are_ blushing—”

“Do not play this game with me, England,” said Jenny. “No matter how much ground you gain right now, I’m gonna win it back and then some.”

“Jenny, sweet nothings aren’t a _competition,”_ said Rupert very smugly.

“You are only saying that because you _know_ you’re winning!”

“I,” said Rupert, his smirk growing, “am a mature and rational adult. _You_ —”

 _“I,”_ said Jenny, “am going to drag you out of the next faculty meeting, _by your tie,_ and bring you back in with lipstick on your collar, and there is _nothing that you will be able to do to stop me.”_

This was a very effective threat, particularly because they both knew that it was a promise Jenny was entirely willing to follow through on. It did not, however, work as Jenny had initially intended. “Ms. Calendar, I think I’d quite like that,” Rupert murmured, low and pleased, and tilted her chin up to his to kiss her.

 _High tide for Janna,_ thought Jenny helplessly, and twined her arms around his neck.

* * *

“Oh, these are _lovely,”_ said Rupert softly.

Jenny, who had been examining the candy canes with a displeased frown (two of them had gotten broken in transit), set the box down to see what had gotten Rupert’s attention. Her heart fluttered when she saw him carefully removing the ducklings from the tissue paper she’d wrapped them in. “You like them?” she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant about it.

Rupert looked directly into Jenny’s eyes. With quiet purpose, he said, “I _love_ them.”

Jenny’s heart did a backflip. In a strangled voice, she said, “Yeah, ducklings are really great. I thought they’d look nice on the tree. You said you wanted a real one, right?”

“I have absolutely no idea _what_ I said while high on painkillers,” said Rupert, edging his chair over a little so that his leg rested quietly against hers, “but now that I seem to have jump-started our first joint celebration, I would indeed enjoy a real Christmas tree. I find fake ones distasteful and dishonest.”

“You _would,”_ said Jenny. “They’re more _practical,_ you know—”

“Practicality be damned, Jenny,” said Rupert earnestly. “The more _expedient_ option ruthlessly removes the—the warm, emotive messiness of Christmas.”

He had such a sweet expression on his face. Jenny ducked her head, grateful that her hair had grown enough to fall in front of her face and hide her smile. “Okay, fine,” she said. “I defer to the Christmas expert. Just tell me what my second grocery run needs and I’ll get it for you.”

Rupert hesitated.

“What?”

Slowly, Rupert said, _“Well._ We seem to have covered the basics when it comes to decorations, so the logical next step would be…dinner preparations.”

 _Oh._ Jenny saw where this was going. “Rupert, I’m sure cooking can’t be _that_ hard,” she began.

“Jenny, you set a _fire_ in a _microwave,”_ said Rupert. “They had to evacuate the _entire school.”_

Jenny huffed. “Okay, nobody _actually knows_ who left their spoon in that coffee cup—”

Rupert gave her a look.

“— _you_ certainly wouldn’t know, you weren’t even _there—”_

Rupert continued to give her a look.

“—microwaves and ovens are two different things!”

“They call it a _microwave oven,_ Jenny,” said Rupert.

“Nobody’s putting coffee in the oven, _Rupert!”_

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I—” Remembering a time in college when she _had_ in fact put a cup of coffee in the oven while extremely sleep-deprived, Jenny pressed her lips together. The moment of hesitation was enough for Rupert to cotton on. _“Listen—”_

“Jenny,” said Rupert, his voice shaking with badly stifled laughter, “if you cook Christmas dinner, you _will_ burn your own house down and I _cannot_ in good conscience allow that to happen.”

“Even _if_ you were right about me burning my house down,” said Jenny waspishly, “which you most _certainly_ are not, it’s not as though I can let _you_ cook for me! You need to be resting as much as possible, and I know how much cooking takes out of you.”

Rupert considered this. “Perhaps a compromise is worth considering?”

“Such as?”

“We could order in from that Mexican place,” said Rupert, “You know, the one we went to on—”

“On our first date,” said Jenny, and was startled to find herself smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I…think I could enjoy that.”

* * *

(The food had been good, that night. Jenny had ordered a beer for herself and an iced tea for Rupert, just to see if he would snap out of the bashful, star-struck daze he’d been in ever since she’d pulled up in front of the school. She’d expected him to get all snippy and snobby about _real_ tea, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her long enough to even notice what he was drinking. Their hands had brushed when reaching for the chip basket at the same time, and for some inexplicable reason, there had been an honest-to-God static shock. Jenny had laughed, incredulous and bright, and the slow smile that had spread across Rupert’s face was the kind of memory you saved for a rainy day.)

* * *

Jenny had never actually gone anywhere near a Christmas tree lot before, _ever._ The handful of times she’d pulled something together for Christmas had been haphazard, halfhearted, and usually in a last-ditch effort to rejuvenate a stalling relationship—which had led to more fake trees than real ones. She hadn’t expected so many of the trees to be so impossibly big, and the sheer variety of choices and trees made the thought of picking one all on her own more than a little intimidating.

There was a quiet, unfamiliar ache in her chest, and it made her feel uncomfortably exposed. Glowering at the trees like it was _their_ fault she was feeling like this, she walked slowly through the aisles of greenery, trying to find one that she thought Rupert might like.

“Oh, hey, Ms. Calendar!”

Jenny jumped, then brought an awkward smile to her face. Buffy and her mom were standing by a scraggly-looking fir. “Buffy,” she said, inclining her head. “You guys here getting a tree?”

“No, we’re here for ballet lessons,” Buffy deadpanned.

 _“Buffy,”_ said her mother.

Jenny snickered, and was gratified to see Buffy’s answering grin. “I deserved that. Mrs. Summers, right?” She stuck out her hand; the lady took it. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“You’re the computer science teacher, right?” said Mrs. Summers, shaking Jenny’s hand and giving her a warm smile. “Willow’s got a whole lot of positive things to say about you. I’ve been trying to nudge Buffy into taking a few more useful classes this semester, but—well, you know teenagers.”

Buffy’s grin had entirely vanished.

Eyes flitting between Buffy and Mrs. Summers, Jenny said very politely, “Mrs. Summers, how much do _you_ know about teenagers? From what I know of Buffy, she’s a pretty incredible kid even if she’s _not_ taking any of my classes. My—um, _Mr. Giles_ has nothing but warm words to say about _her.”_

Buffy’s mom didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Buffy herself was giving Jenny a look like she didn’t entirely know what to make of the situation either.

“Have you met Mr. Giles?” Jenny tacked on.

“Um,” said Mrs. Summers. “Briefly?”

“Hey mom _why don’t we go look at trees somewhere else,”_ said Buffy, shoving her mom in the opposite direction. She paused a moment, looking back at Jenny, and a tiny smile darted across her face before she continued to shepherd her mom towards some less scraggly-looking firs.

A little discombobulated—and understanding now more than ever why Rupert was particularly protective of the kid—Jenny went back to her tree-related mission. Scanning the surrounding firs, her eyes landed on a couple with a small child in a baby carriage. The parents were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, talking in low, warm voices about the merits of a smaller, less costly tree and examining price tags.

Jenny watched them for an amount of time that was probably concerning before finally and furtively fishing out the crumpled-up list from her jacket pocket. Without paying any attention to its contents, she focused instead on the slightly messy swoops of Rupert’s usually-flawless cursive. The pain medication had been really kicking in halfway through the list, and it had showed in the way his handwriting veered dramatically to the left in a few places.

If it _was_ a serious relationship, she thought, she and Rupert would be here together next year. It would be a little chilly, and she’d tuck her hand in his pocket until he rolled his eyes and gave her one of his gloves. He’d know which tree to pick, and he’d tell her lots of stories about the size of the trees he’d had growing up in England, and she would buy a sprig of mistletoe from the stand up front and hold it over him until he kissed her, both of them surrounded by that rich, sharp Christmas tree smell.

It probably didn’t matter, then, what kind of tree she picked _this_ year. There was always a chance that she’d have him here next year to show her the ropes.

Jenny settled on the scraggly-looking fir she’d seen Buffy by. She thought it had character.

* * *

“Oh, that—that looks like someone killed it,” said Rupert as soon as he saw the tree.

“Someone _did,”_ said Jenny. “That’s how Christmas trees _work,_ Rupert.”

“You know what I mean. It looks _malnourished._ Are you quite certain it’s well enough to even support _one_ ornament?”

“You’re being ridiculous and dramatic,” Jenny informed him, lovingly draping a string of lights over the tree’s jutting-out branches. “And anyway, you left this one up to me, _so—”_

“I am _physically injured,”_ Rupert objected. “I had no _choice._ Next year, _you’re_ leaving this one up to _me.”_

“Next year I’m coming _with_ you. I had fun picking this little guy out!” This was not, strictly speaking, true, but the tree had become infinitely more attractive to Jenny upon realizing how much it irked Rupert. “I think I’m going to call him Rupert Junior.”

“That—”

“He’s our _baby,_ Rupert,” said Jenny, draping her arms around the fir tree and nuzzling into it with her cheek. This was definitely a mistake. She was pretty sure she’d gotten at least two pine needles in her mouth. “Are you telling me you’re abandoning your _firstborn son_ three days before your first Christmas with him?”

Rupert was pressing a hand to his mouth and glaring at her in that special way that meant that he was trying _very_ hard not to laugh. “Jenny, get off the tree.”

 _“I_ am a nurturing parent,” Jenny informed him.

“Jen—oh, for god’s _sake,”_ said Rupert, and moved forward to push a few branches haphazardly out of the way and kiss her. They were both laughing when he pulled away, and Jenny stumbled forward and into his arms, weighed down by a heavy, wonderful warmth. “You could have picked _any_ tree, you know—”

“It’s _memorable!”_ said Jenny. “We’re going to be talking about this tree every Christmas from now on.”

“I rather think that it will be a repressed memory for the rest of my life,” said Rupert.

“That is an extremely hurtful thing to say about our very first Christmas together,” said Jenny, looking up at him with her own semi-sarcastic rendition of Rupert’s puppy-dog eyes.

 _“You,”_ said Rupert, “are, unexpectedly, the most joyful thing I have stumbled upon in Sunnydale. This _tree—”_

Jenny felt suffused in terrifying happiness. “The _most_ joyful thing,” she repeated.

“Oh, _don’t_ let that be the takeaway, I’m trying to get you to stop calling the tree our _child,”_ said Rupert with affected irritation. A smile danced across his face, _thoroughly_ undercutting his usual attempt at the annoyed tone he’d often taken with her a year ago. “And you already _know_ your worth in my life, Jenny—or at least I hope you do.”

They were building to a crescendo. Jenny could feel it.

“Jenny,” said Rupert, his voice softening, “I—”

This was the line she’d been edging closer and closer to. This was the line, and Jenny had reached it. She was in Rupert’s arms, looking up into his eyes, _knowing_ that in half a second he was going to tell her that he loved her, and absolutely everything in her _wanted to hear him say it._ The reason for this was too terrifying to even think about, so she focused instead on the facts: not once in over a decade of semi-serious dating had she wanted to hear one of her short-term flings say that they loved her. None of them had been the kind of people whose love _meant_ something to her, because none of them had _known_ her—not the messy, mean, short-tempered Jenny who woke up with her hair sticking up at all angles and liked being alone more than she cared to admit.

Rupert didn’t know about the skeletons in her closet, or the real reason why she was in Sunnydale. Jenny had thought that that kind of lie by omission had obfuscated the most honest and vital parts of herself, but all she’d done was made it clear that she was _more_ than a messy collection of family history. More than Angelus, more than an agent of vengeance—somewhere along the line, playing the part of Jenny Calendar had finally set Janna free.

Lost in a terrified whirl of emotion, it took Jenny a good ten seconds to register that Rupert had never actually finished his sentence. He was still looking at her with unguarded tenderness; she didn’t understand why he’d stopped. “Rupert—”

Rupert leaned down, resting his forehead quietly against hers. Very, very softly, he said, “I don’t think I have to say it _now,_ if it’s still a bit much for you to hear.”

 _Oh._ Touched beyond belief, Jenny managed a shaky nod. “Y-yeah,” she said, and realized with a small jolt that her cheeks were wet. “Um—”

She was half expecting Rupert to poke fun at her, in that gently loving kind of way he’d been perfecting now that they were serious enough for him to trust she wasn’t going anywhere. She was further surprised when he adjusted her in his arms to carefully remove a handkerchief from his top pocket, dabbing gently at Jenny’s face without a single word about the tears. “Tell me when you’re ready to hear it,” he said. “Or don’t tell me at all, if it turns out you never are. I know this sort of thing is…new, for you.”

It was fucking terrifying to be this close to a guy who knew everything real about her.

Jenny moved closer.


End file.
